Wildflower
by Befanini
Summary: COMPLETE. Bloom where you're planted. Perspectives from Burial, Gaiden and the Present, respective to the Torrent Arc of SanzoxGojyo.
1. Ruby

**August 31, 2006**

**Title: Wildflower (Part 6 of Torrent)**

**Author: Befanini**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Just another piece inspired by Kazuya Minekura's delicious boys.

**Rating: M**

**Summary: **"Bloom where you're planted." A long-overdue songfic of random ruminations by four souls bound by fate. Part 6 of the Torrent series.

3535353535353

**A/N:**

A few things:

First, this fic has been patiently waiting its turn for over a year now (as some of you may know) – I've had the rough plan for it since July 2005. XD The muses decided it was high time to finish it, before we get totally immersed in TMD4Ever (Now up at mediaminer dot org!). So if I'm absent from FF for a while after this, you'll know I'm deep into the last part of the parody, which I'm bound and determined to finish before year's end. LOL

Second, the inspiration for this fic is the hauntingly beautiful song "Wildflower", as the title suggests. Part of the reason I kept procrastinating is because the song is in the feminine; and yet I feel so strongly that it describes the Saiyuki boys so well. So dear readers, there's nothing else for it but to ask you to "suspend reality" yet again, to just overlook the feminine pronoun used and simply absorb the spirit of the song instead.

Lastly, I'm adding this to the Torrent series for the angst element, which has no part in the more light-hearted and playful Barely Breathing.

Dedicated to Ditch Gospel, who inspires me to "continue being me": controversial, strong, unafraid and free-spirited, in her words. XD Look! I finally got around to this fic!

And for Daxzia and ShyMagical, who've helped me "keep the faith" (heh), and kept this silly soul from the loony bin. LOL Thanks, guys…

On with it!

35353535353

**i. Ruby**

_Is this the real life_

_Is this just fantasy_

_Caught in a landslide_

_With no escape from reality_

_Open your eyes_

_Look up to the skies and see_

_I'm just a poor boy_

_I need no sympathy_

_Because I'm easy come, easy go_

_Little high, little low_

_Anywhere the wind blows_

_Doesn't really matter to me_

_To me…_

XxXxX

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

XxXxX

Have you ever wondered how is it possible to love somebody so much and hate them to hell at the same time?

I mean, I know I'm not your normal kid – seems like I've heard that all my life – but even I know that you either have someone who means so much to you you'd be willing to die for them; or someone who you just can't stand that you want to kill them sometimes. But surely it can't be both. And more than that, surely you don't feel that way three times over.

I don't kid myself about how people feel about me – _that _I'm only too clear on. People stare at my hair and my eyes. The kids at school make fun of me, or else avoid me like I have some kind of nasty disease. The teachers pretend I'm not there.

My own mother wishes I were dead. Well, to be perfectly honest I'm not really _her_ kid, after all. Just a goddamn half-breed brat that her cheating husband dumped on her. I guess in a way I can understand the poor woman's revulsion for me.

… But I still want her to care for me, even a _little_ bit… you know? I mean, a kid's gotta be able to know his mother loves him no matter what, right? Even if I _am _only her "stepson".

Jien, on the other hand… now, Jien she _loves._ A lot. She loves him more than anything. And why shouldn't she? Jien is her true, full-blooded, pure son, after all. It sometimes seems like she can't _breathe _without him by her side. I'm no innocent fool, I've had to grow up fast given my shitty life, and I can see something there that's just a little _too_ disturbing. But what the fuck do my opinions matter, anyway. I'm just a filthy taboo child.

Don't get me wrong. I love Jien a lot. He's a bully sometimes, acting all superior and thinking he's the boss, like all big brothers do. It annoys me when I sometimes just want to be left alone and he insists on getting in my face, he insists that I eat right, he makes sure that I go to school, like it or not.

He always finds me, somehow, when I've had a really bad day and I've wandered alone into the forest, and it's way past bedtime. He refuses to believe that I just fell asleep there, under the trees, with the river singing me to sleep and the stars for company. It's quiet there, peaceful, and I like it. But Jien always thinks that I'm running away from home, and he shows up to "bring me back" with such a worried look on his face. Baka. As if I'd ever run away from anything.

As if I'd ever let anything defeat me.

As if I'd ever cry.

But I let him carry me home, riding piggy-back with my arms around his neck like I was a stupid five-year-old. And I let him think he's rescued me. He feels warm, and solid, and strong, and dependable.

And if my face grows wet, it's just the mist thick in the woods. And if I fall asleep while he carries me, it's because I'm so damn tired of chasing rabbits and foxes into their holes. It's not as if it's because I feel secure and protected… It's not as if I finally feel safe enough to let go, and let someone else be strong.

When I was younger, six or seven years old, I used to tag around after him all the time. He didn't mind much – and he taught me a lot about hunting, and fishing, and how to climb trees, and how to read animal tracks. We played a lot in the woods, and he always had to bandage me up whenever I hurt myself running too fast or climbing too high.

He also taught me how to fight. Not that I needed to learn any "basics" – I was born a fighter, I think – I guess all outcasts have the consolation prize of being born stubbornly strong and with the instinct to survive. You gotta fight for every last scrap you can, if you want to make it in this rough-and-tumble world. You can't just bow your head and quietly swallow all the shit that people throw at you. Because nothing will change if you do.

And I certainly don't intend to quit just because my hair and my eyes happen to be red.

Red is the color of blood.

The color of _life_. That's what I _choose_ to believe.

And maybe, if I keep believing hard enough, Mother will believe it too.

Anyway, I was saying that I'm no sissy. I already knew by instinct how to use my fists to defend myself. But Jien taught me I don't need to depend on my fists alone.

He told me that all youkai are gifted with the ability to call up a weapon out of thin air. He preferred a curved, heavy sword himself. He said it was about time I started to figure out what weapon worked for me best.

It took me a while to conjure up anything, let alone a heavy, clumsy broadsword. But Jien was patient with me, and finally I was able to come up with something. And it turns out that my first successful effort remains my favorite.

I call it the Jakujou.

I just got so tired of being beaten up by Jien – he was a lot bigger than me, for one thing; and for another I wasn't skilled enough with the sword to do more than parry, let alone attack in the next instant. While I was struggling just to block his attacks with my own heavy sword, he would swing his sword-arm around and it would be all over for me, with the tip of his sword pointed at my throat.

So one day, I had the idea of calling up not another great sword that I was too clumsy to handle, but rather a long, lightweight staff. Jien grinned and swung at me at once, and I used my staff to block him – while a swift, curved blade sliced at him from one end of my weapon.

I laughed my ass off at the sight of him sprawled down there on the ground, blinking stupidly up at me. I certainly earned his respect that day, but it was a whole lot more satisfying just wiping the smug smirk off his superior face. Hah.

Of course the rule whenever we "dueled" was that our weapons were supposed to be blunt; but even so that crescent-shaped blade flying out at him from a long chain attached to my weapon's pole just about knocked him down flat.

And after a few more adjustments (Jien got his revenge when my raw weapon proved a tad too unwieldy for me to control properly, and I somehow ended up with my neck wrapped up in the damn chains) – I finally balanced the Jakujou off with another permanent, heavier blade at the other end.

I like it a lot. I'm proud of my weapon, in fact – Jien himself tells me it's one-of-a-kind, and I thought it up myself. But Jien has made me promise not to ever use it unless my life is on the line.

Feh. Spoilsport. Those brats and bullies at school deserve a good scare, if you ask me. But what the heck, I gave Jien my word.

I listen when he talks seriously to me, and I take his advice to heart. Because he's a pretty decent big brother, and I respect him.

… Except sometimes, when he shuts me up in my room. This happens when Mother is in another of her moods, which is almost always.

Then, I sit alone on my bed and reach under the mattress for the stash of cigarettes I keep there – and the noises begin, soft at first, just murmurs from her and low words from him, and then he grows completely silent while _she _gets louder – sighs and moans and choked cries, and I hear her bed creaking, creaking, until it's practically banging against the wall, and I can't get away from her voice, now sobbing and screaming his name – _Jien, Jien, oh God yes, love me Jien, love me, I love you so much, Jien – _and the sounds of the bed and her vulgar noises and his low, guilty grunts whirl around and around me as my floor grows littered with cigarette butts and my mouth opens in a silent scream –

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you –

I hate you for loving her

I hate you for not loving me

I hate you for not being here, for forcing your son to commit such a dirty sin with your own wife

I hate you Jien for being so weak

I hate you Mother for being so vile and wanton and blind and insane

I hate you Father, all of this is your goddamn fault, all of it

I hate Jien for doing this for me, and I know he only does it for me –

I hate Mother for not loving me as a mother should love her child –

I hate _myself _for wanting her love –

I hate myself for being a burden to my brother this way –

I hate myself for hoping that tomorrow will be different, always bloody hoping –

I hate myself for making Mother cry.

If she didn't cry, Jien wouldn't have to make her feel better.

And I wouldn't be sitting here, drowning in their joyous cries of ecstasy while I try miserably to melt into the walls of my prison, trying to get away from the revulsion and the loathing and the sickness I feel at hearing my brother making love to our mother.

And when I've run out of cigarettes, I pry open my window and disobey Jien and forget his warnings about the dangers of the woods at night, and I jump out and I run, deeper and deeper into the forest, trying to run away from her screaming

-- _I love you Jien, God YES, my darling Jien –_

And I wake up to find my big brother bent over me, his face hard and his jaw set, only his eyes are full of remorse, and self-loathing – and he picks me up to carry me back home, and I try to ignore how he still smells of her.

I want to kill her sometimes. I hate her that much.

But I want her love even more. She is so beautiful, my mother. So graceful, so delicate, so pretty when she smiles.

I wish she would smile at me. Just once.

I wish I knew how to make her happy.

I wish she won't cry anymore.

XxXxX

TBC…


	2. Emerald

**September 14, 2006**

**i. Emerald

* * *

**

XxXxX

"Take the gentle path." – George Herbert

XxXxX

* * *

"_I love your hands." _

Such a simple sentence, and it tears me apart.

I almost cannot believe that such happiness is now mine – pure happiness in your eloquent eyes the same color as my own… reverent awe at your face, almost the exact mirror of mine and yet a thousand times more beautiful… overwhelming joy in your laughter, and your always-present smile, and your soft voice so gentle and sweet… incredible bliss sharing your bed, and even more bliss sharing a home with you… and simple comfort just lying in your arms, knowing I belong somewhere at last.

Knowing I belong to someone.

Knowing I'm finally home.

I sometimes feel like I don't deserve any of this – and not only because of the unusual fact that you are technically my long-lost older twin. No, that has ceased to matter a long time ago; and you and I both silently agree that it is just an unfortunate circumstance, an ironic twist of fate to discover that we are in fact connected that way. It doesn't bear the same "shame", the same stigma, as having been aware of the familial kinship all along.

We fell in love not regardless of the fact, but _honestly unaware of it_, which is why it makes no difference to us now. Right, my love? We just don't talk about it, because it doesn't matter, having grown up apart, having developed into who we are at present separate from each other.

I just love you. That is all. I believe in soulmates; and perhaps there was some good in getting separated as we did, so we had a chance to find each other and fall in love without the guilt of the blood tie.

And not even discovering the truth of the matter is enough to taint the purity of what lies between us. I cannot feel guilty when this feels so very right.

Am I rationalizing, perhaps? Trying to find justification for our unusual relationship? No. I only mean to emphasize the union of our souls, of a bond so deep that it transcends all worldly connections. I truly feel that our love is so special that the world, if they knew, could find in their hearts to forgive us for that one unfortunate detail – yes, to forgive us, if not to understand.

I am not ashamed that you are in fact my sister. I don't have trouble reconciling it with you being my lover too; because I was your lover first before we ever found out the truth. And that is how I always think of you – as my lover. I'm not seeking to deny anything; nor am I ignoring the truth and pretending it's not there.

I'm just too blind; too consumed with _you_, Kanan the person, to even pay attention to anything else. You don't feel like a "sister" to me – and I believe that I don't feel like a "brother" to you. Given the circumstances of our pasts – those are just words to us now. In fact, I sometimes wonder if life didn't hand us a second chance, when the unfortunate accident happened and we were sent off to different orphanages. That way, our souls had the chance to come together without any knowledge of the earthly ties we had been born into.

And that is the crucial thing that makes all the difference.

We fell in love guilelessly. Innocently. And that is why our love now still remains pure, even with that inconvenient "truth".

No, that is not what worries me. The guilt I feel comes from the person I used to be – so cynical, so jaded, so disillusioned with the world. Yeah, right. Precious illusions, that's what they were. I used to be so angry – and it was the type of silent, brooding anger that drove everyone away from me.

I hated everything. I hated the orphanage that took me in, I hated the schools that vied with each other to take me as a scholar, I hated the carefree laughter of the other children, I hated God for taking away everything I had, and most of all I hated myself for being so weak, for relishing the self-imposed suffering I inflicted on myself by refusing to recognize all the other choices that were available to me.

I hated myself for befriending pain and refusing to let it go.

You see, it was all I knew.

Until you came.

You, who taught me how to smile.

How to forgive. To forgive fate, to forgive God, to forgive myself.

You, who awakened the better half of me, and how you marvel that I could have been anything other than the gentle man that you know now.

Looking back at that bitter little boy, I can scarcely believe that it used to be me. Your love has even the power to make me forget that those dark days ever existed.

I began to _live_ only when I met you.

And now, lying in your arms, in our little home, with all our plans and dreams for the future – I can only pray that life won't take you from me again.

Looking into your emerald eyes, I see spring. I see renewal, and rebirth, and hope. New beginnings.

Surely I've paid for those years of anger and resentment by the very solitude they brought me.

Surely the world understands about us… and fate will be kind enough to forgive us for choosing to love each other, despite who we are.

Surely I've paid my karmic debts. Surely life will require no more of me.

All I want is to be together with you, for the rest of our lives.

"_I love your hands…"_

It is your quietness, your mildness, your kindness, that has imparted gentleness to these hands. Your love has gentled me, you have soothed my pain and quieted this restless soul. You have made me over, until I do not know how to be anything but this mild, simple man, so content, so happy.

And I swear to Heaven, these hands will do anything to keep you.

* * *

XxXxX

* * *

"_That monster's child lives inside of me…"_

No. Please…

"_It's too late now…"_

Didn't I swear it? Didn't I promise I'd do anything to keep you? These hands – these gentle hands that not so long ago you called 'pretty' – do you see how they are bathed in blood? All for you.

Anything for you!

"_Goodbye, Gonou…"_

Those can't be your final words… that can't be your last smile… this cannot be the very last time I look into your eyes--!

The sickening sound of metal tearing into flesh, the awful gurgling noise of life pouring out of the fatal wound… How is it that I only hear them now? How come the horror of _death_ only dawns on me now, as I watch the light fading from those eyes that I love so much, why only now, after the river of blood I have left behind me…?

Only now that you are gone from me, dying before my very eyes, do I come to my senses and realize the trail of dead bodies I left in my wake to get to you.

Only now does my conscience come back to me – do their lives mean any less than yours, simply because I live only for you?

And now I don't have a reason to exist anymore, and I have no excuses for the terrible weight of the sins I have committed this night.

But above all that – and salvation be _damned_ anyway – you are gone from me. Gone, forever, with no hope of reunion, no more second chances, and only endings are left to me now.

My spring has turned into endless winter.

And I cannot begin to imagine how I can bear the loss of you.

My screams cannot even pierce the echoing emptiness that is now my world. Even the terrible pain I feel makes no difference to the void, the blankness you have left behind.

My world, without you.

Somebody… Anybody… I beg you…

_Somebody kill me.

* * *

_

XxXxX

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

"Resume" by Dorothy Parker

XxXxX

* * *

TBC…

* * *

**

* * *

A/N:**

This will be the "schedule" for updates – every other week, alternating with TMD4ever, until this fic is completed. And we have a while yet to go…

And by the way – it just dawned on me: Wildflower is the _**35**th _daydream. **35! **XD It's kinda weird, I didn't expect it to be one of the angst ones. Hmm… Perhaps the 53rd story will be in the Barely Breathing series. LOL If I get to that number. We'll see!


	3. Amber

**October 6, 2006**

**i. Amber

* * *

**

XxXxX

_Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy_

_Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry_

_Sunshine on the water looks so lovely_

_Sunshine almost always makes me high_

"_Sunshine" by John Denver_

XxXxX

* * *

It sometimes feels like I'm living inside a dream. The sun rises, the birds awaken, the wind blows through the trees, and far below in the distance the sea shimmers and sparkles as if it were laughing. At day's close the wind lies down to sleep on the soft grass, the birds coo good-night softly to each other, and the sun sets far away upon the sea, setting the whole water on fire.

And then, there are only dim shadows and soft shapes in the darkness, while the stars wheel overhead, twinkling in time to some unheard melody.

This is my world, for as long as I can remember. And I can't remember much to begin with – I can't recall, nor understand why I am chained to these rocks. Worse, why I'm chained _and _kept behind bars inside this barren, cheerless cave.

I wish I knew. But then again, would _knowing_ really make it any better? I _have_ tried to break free from this prison, short of gnawing off my own limbs; and even then these bars that lock me in are imperishable, as far as I can tell.

The fact is that I _am_ chained, and that I can't escape. Sometimes I don't think I want to know why, really. Not _being_ free is sad enough. I don't want to remember whatever horrible, unforgivable thing it was I did to have deserved this punishment.

But out of all the fog… the confused dreams, and the occasional moments when I'm convinced I've gone crazy… out of all the flashes, the images that fleetingly come back… there is one thing I do remember.

Just one.

And it comforts me as much as my view of the outside world; and I am as grateful for it as being allowed to share in the life going on outside my prison, to share in it through my "window", if not to be a _part_ of it.

I remember my name.

Goku.

I don't know how I remember it, nor how I'm so sure that it _is_ my name. I just know that it is. And more than that, I know that it is the most precious gift that anyone has ever given to me. The _only_ gift that anyone has ever given me.

Yes, it _was_ a gift, and don't ask me how I know that either.

And so here in my cave, held fast by shackles, and powerless to do more than just watch the clouds drifting by, I hold on to that one sure thing.

I am Goku.

Somehow, it gives me hope.

Hope for what, I cannot say. Even the birds that are my only friends leave me, year after year. They die, of course. Curiously enough, I go on.

Through the promise of spring and the new buds on the trees, through the brassiness of summer and the tempting sea breezes… through the sweet sorrow of autumn, and the last dance of the leaves, to finally the terrifying white of winter – the silence, and the cold, and the staring blankness that seems like it would never end…

I go on.

I think I truly go mad sometimes, and my mind gets lost, usually after another of my animal friends has died before my eyes… and I lose count of how many years I've spent staring off, not seeing anything. Or maybe I just sleep a really long sleep. Whichever it is, I know it's been years, because I wake up, or I come back to myself, and the trees are much taller, or a few have even disappeared – perhaps having been uprooted in a storm and withering away without my knowledge.

And still I go on.

I don't know why, really. I've never questioned how I survive. I just do, even though I see for myself year after year how living things grow old and die. Like I said, it's like a dream… where time doesn't matter, and things happen and you watch them go by while you're standing still… waiting…

Waiting.

Yes, sometimes it feels that way. Like I'm waiting. Waiting for something, waiting for someone.

Somehow, it's not so bad. My wrists and ankles may be chained, but I can still move around. And I may be locked up in a cave, but the darkness is only _behind_ me.

As long as I keep my face to the entrance, I can see the sun. As long as my chains allow me to reach out and pet the birds, then it's enough.

Enough is as good as a feast, don't you think?

As long as I can feel the sun pouring down on me and touching my face, I feel happy, and thankful that I'm alive.

Alive, in this beautiful world, and watching the changing seasons behind my prison. The hope of spring. The carefree abandon of summer. The bittersweet melancholy of fall. And yes, even the harsh beauty of winter.

Because no matter what the season or the weather, my prison sits on top of these mountains. Here, where I see and feel the sun. By turns fierce and burning and unforgiving, and then gentle and warm, and so brilliant it blinds me.

I like the sun. It reminds me… I can't remember exactly what it is it reminds me of, but I know that whatever it was, it shone and dazzled and filled me with awe and reverence and pure joy.

As long as the sun is there… constant, never-changing, even if it storms, even if it's night time and I can only glimpse it reflected on the face of the gentle moon… as long as I know it's _there_, I don't feel alone.

That's the thing, you see. Somehow… I don't feel lonely, all by myself on what feels like the top of the world. Spring, summer, winter and fall – all of them seem to remind me of something that I must not forget.

Something important.

Something that I'm a part of.

Something I belong to, and something that I _complete_.

Sometimes I wake up from a really deep sleep and I can almost, _almost_ remember… Somebody with kind eyes and a gentle smile… Somebody whose towering strength both bullies me and protects me… Somebody to whom I have something really, really important to tell – the one who made a promise, the one who told me I was _special_…

And always, always the one who glowed like the sun.

But then another day comes, and ordinary things are in it, and everything fades away again, and I wonder how much of my dreams are true memories, and which parts I just maybe make up to comfort myself with.

Or maybe they're a sort of prayer… a way of calling out to someone, to anyone… to come and set me free.

So I wait. For my memories to come back, or for these dream shadows to be real, or maybe I'm just waiting to see how it ends. Waiting for an end.

I wait.

XxXxX

* * *

TBC


	4. Amethyst

**October 23, 2006**

**i. Amethyst

* * *

**

XxXxX

_Out of the night that covers me_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

XxXxX

* * *

It's been three years since I set off alone from Kinzan. Three fruitless years, with not a shred of solid information about the Seiten Scripture, not a trace of the heinous villains who took my Master's life. All this time I've spent walking from place to place, going around in circles, it seems, garbed in these rags with not a thing to my name except this banishing gun.

That, and the name my Master gave me that final night that we talked.

It is such a burden, this name. And I wish it was not so. I wish I did not feel this way about the title that my teacher saw fit to bestow upon me. Understand that I am not ungrateful for it, nor am I turning my back on the trust that Koumyou Sanzo placed on these shoulders.

But it is a heavy responsibility, when all I want is to find those damn demons and tear them limb from limb.

I want them to bleed.

I want them to suffer.

I want them to drown in such pain that death itself would be a merciful angel.

You have to admit, these are not exactly the desires of one who is 'Holy'.

Hn. But _he _would understand, anyway. He, who scoffed at the notion of being 'Exalted'. He, who was ever the irreverent one, who always believed what he chose to believe, who always did things his own way.

He, who refused to be "serious", and who refused to take _himself_ seriously. _I'd rather be a smiling, dreamy fool than a boring old coot, _he always said, and I never knew if he was serious even about _that_.

Koumyou Sanzo, who refused to be bound, who reveled in his freedom, he, who lived his life just as it was.

_Why aren't you inside giving the lecture?_ I would ask, frowning at the mess of bright-colored paper I was going to have to sweep up.

_Oh, I don't know much about giving lectures, _he would answer with that serene smile. _What I'm really good at is making paper airplanes… _And he would let one fly, the warm orange a stark contrast against the cool blue. _Look, Kouryu… Isn't it beautiful?_

_He_ was beautiful, my Master. Koumyou Sanzo. My father. My teacher. My friend. Such a sage he was, though half those idiots didn't get it, and smiled insultingly at him behind his back.

But _I_ understood. I was among the few who saw, who was in awe of the light that radiated from him. And I drank up all the simple wisdom he imparted upon this eager young soul, even as he always chided me to work less and to play more.

_You are so intense, Kouryu, _he used to tell me. _That is both your blessing and your burden. _… And it is only now that I fully grasp the meaning of those words.

Because there is this unquenchable flame that burns in me – the all-consuming need to now take revenge for his death. Because of it, I have survived this long, despite hungry and desperate bandits, despite sinful foul men seeking to claim my body, despite wild beasts and the harsh elements that I sometimes find myself forced to endure when camping out in the wilderness.

* * *

XxXxX

_In the fell clutch of circumstance_

_I have not winced nor cried aloud._

_Under the bludgeonings of chance_

_My head is bloody, but unbowed._

XxXxX

* * *

Despite the nightmares each night. Despite the overwhelming guilt I carry from the choices I've made in order to survive. Despite the lives I've taken, so that _my _life will _not_ be taken from me.

Despite the terrible sadness I feel, the utter and complete loneliness that has haunted me since that rainy night when I last looked in his eyes.

So kind they always were, so calm, so gentle and so wise. So playful and twinkling with some secret joke that only he knew. Hn. Probably laughing at the ultimate _futileness _of it all – the wheel of life, rolling over and over, around and around in a senseless cycle of suffering and loss and death.

And sometimes – very rarely – his eyes were so utterly sorrowful, so alone, as only a man of his stature can be… But always, always, so silently strong.

Perhaps when I've finally seen this through, and I have claimed back that which is rightfully mine… perhaps then I shall be free to grieve him properly. Until then, my grief sustains me. That is the irony of it. The burning rage I feel gives me impetus to struggle on. At this point, whether it is a blessing or a burden doesn't even matter.

* * *

XxXxX

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears_

_Looms but the Horror of the shade,_

_And yet the menace of the years_

_Finds, and shall find me, unafraid._

XxXxX

* * *

_If I must live this life, then live it I shall_, a wretched existence though it may be, feeling so damn hypocritical as I do, walking in the borrowed glory of this holy name while my insides are twisted with the single evil desire to extract my pound of flesh from those bastards who took away the one who mattered the most, who took away the _only_ one who mattered.

I never asked for this. I never expressed any desire to be a self-righteous, self-absorbed monk, piously meditating for the sins of the world while living a cloistered, safe life in the confines of a temple, with no idea of the horrible suffering that the common man endures just to stay alive, ignorant of the unceasing struggle for survival that drives the world to commit those sins in the first place.

I consented to learn the ways of the Temple only for my Master's sake, because it was a delight to him for me to be his pupil. But I've never served Buddha, nor His Temple. I believe only in myself, and I served only Koumyou Sanzo. It was never my wish to be the next Toa.

I learned the Holy Scriptures, I trained in martial arts and the esoteric practices of meditation and spiritual magic, I studied theology and philosophy because it pleased my Master for me to do so. But I never intended to shave my head and don the monkly robes. I did it all because it was the way of life of the temple, and the way of life of my Master; I did it to keep my place by his side.

But I never, ever thought that fate would play her cruel hand and not only remove me from his side, but put _me_ in _his_ place.

To be Koumyou Sanzo's successor was the last thing on my mind.

Looking back now, I can see more clearly… and I realize it was what he intended all along. I remember arguing with him about it, saying that surely a grown-up monk with years of training and study under his belt was a more likely candidate to be my Master's heir than a young upstart like me.

And he replied in his usual enigmatic way.

_There really is no set standard for becoming a Sanzo, my child. There are no definite guidelines, no rules carved in stone when it comes to the qualities necessary in a person for him to be worthy of the title of Sanzo-Houshi._

And when I pressed him about it, he only smiled at me. A warm smile as always, and yet behind it I sensed a great sorrow… and it was only on that last terrible night that I understood why.

_Do you know why Sanzo Priests wear the Holy Sutras on their shoulders? It is a reminder that we carry the world's sins upon ourselves. _He gave me one last wistful smile._ I know you will be strong enough to shoulder this burden too. _

And his dying words bestowed upon me this title and this name.

_I leave everything to you now… Be strong, Genjo Sanzo._

And I _will_ live up to it, dammit. I _will_ prove and justify his trust in me, whatever it was that he saw in the pale, silent, moody child that I was. I _will_ find the strength that he believed I possess, even if it feels like I'm running on empty most of the time.

I will prove worthy of being the 31st Toa if it kills me.

_You have been blessed with such extraordinary gifts, Kouryu. How can you expect to live an ordinary life?_

No fair, Master. But if I must live this life, then live it I shall… until I find a resolution… until I make my peace with you being gone from me, forever.

_Above everything else, remember this, Kouryu. Be gentle with yourself._

Right… 'Ch.

* * *

XxXxX

_It matters not how strait the gate,_

_How charged with punishments the scroll,_

_I am the master of my fate:_

_I am the captain of my soul._

"Invictus"

William Ernest Henley

XxXxX

* * *

TBC…


	5. Indigo: Gaiden

**November 4, 2006**

**ii. Indigo: Gaiden

* * *

**

XxXxX

I never saw a wild thing

sorry for itself.

A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough

without ever having felt sorry for itself.

"Self-pity" by D.H. Lawrence

XxXxX

* * *

And there they go… Four disparate souls, as unlike from each other as you can get; and yet unless I'm much mistaken, it is precisely that which will prove to be their strength, and the unyielding thread that binds them irrevocably together.

Yes, as we here in Heaven have witnessed it, those four will inevitably come together. Their souls will find each other again, no matter that they are now cast out from Heaven and must lead separate lives in the world below, with each of them paying off their karma in solitude. But I tell you that fate has bound them together, whether they will it or not; and they will each answer an unspoken call… respond to an unseen pull… and come face-to-face, four quadrants of one whole, once more.

The cold North. The warm South. The hopeful East. And the melancholy West. They are each part of a bigger whole than even they can comprehend. They need one another, whether they like it or not. They complete one another, in ways they do not want to admit. They belong together, the four of them, whatever faces they possess, whatever names they go by.

_My scrappy little party._

Hn.

The Rebel Dreamer, so cocky, so restless, looking for something larger than himself, something larger than life, looking for _meaning _beyond pretty flowers and empty conquests and numbing wine. He is a true free spirit, this one, and I foresee that he will end up getting much more than he expected. Seeking never to conform to the rules here in Heaven, his fate is to be born as an outcast on Earth… but I am confident that he will meet that challenge head on, with the same brash courage and stubborn defiance that he displayed as a General of the Heavenly Army.

Oh yes… and he will get much more than he bargained for as well, won't he my Silent One? Hn. The quintessential playboy is about to meet his match, the only one with the potential to break _his_ heart… and thus the only one deserving of his heart in return. His fall from grace should prove very interesting indeed… as we wait to see if the one who steals his heart shall fall forever too, and consent to belong to him no matter what, declaring that nothing else matters.

The Scholar Romantic, idealistic, revolutionary, so sly, so cunning, concealing a deadly sharp wit behind such a placid, gentle face. You mark my words, O God of War, this one will retain that fortitude; and on Earth will fight as passionately for what he believes in as he did here in Heaven. The Marshall who planned and oversaw some of the most spectacular maneuvers of the Heavenly Army shall channel that same brilliant mind and ruthless efficiency to protect that which he holds dear in his human incarnation. His cunning and his strength shall not be diminished, only reigned in; and he will remain as much of an intellectual as ever: study shall be his solace through the series of tragedies that is to be his fate; and books will comfort him as they did here in Heaven.

Ah, yes – now we come to the one dearest to you. The Heretic Innocent. Never have I come upon a creature so pure. He gives no false smiles, this one, he has absolutely no guile – he simply lives with a vivacity and an enthusiasm that is both beautiful and tragic at the same time. He is so open, so honest and so free of any deceit; he knows no other way than to embrace life to the fullest, to live so totally _in the moment. _That is the mark of the Great Sage – the one equal to Heaven, the Seiten Taisei.

Hn. It is also this very quality – this insatiable curiosity about everything, that almost hedonistic attitude of indulging the senses: taste, sight, sound, smell, touch – that has proven to be the very panacea for a certain temperamental egoist who was almost choking on his "boredom". Yes, those two indeed have a strange bond… paralleled by the other two with their own connection: the idealist who seeks to keep order, and the renegade who revels in chaos.

You told this one he was special, because you saw yourself in him – the same great golden eyes, the same unimaginable might that is your gift and your curse, the same loneliness you carry from being the exception. By telling him he was special, you wanted confirmation for yourself that _you_ were special too. And you really are. How tragic that you ever doubted that. What a tragedy that _I _was too self-absorbed to confirm it for you… But _he_ did, didn't he, the little monkey. He made you feel singular by treating you as ordinary, irony of ironies. He showed you your worth by being your friend… And he never had the chance to tell you his name. His garland of flowers never reached your eyes. I wonder, can you feel it now as I place it around your neck, where it belongs?

But there is one more I must mention, before we get to the end. My precious one, the Brooder, the Cynic. Ah, me. So jaded, this one is. So apathetic, so fed up with existence. How he grumbled at the stack of paperwork I piled upon his desk, day after day, and yet he was too lazy to even protest it – no, rather than bestir himself, rather than put his foot down and declare once and for all the task of documentation _pointless_ (which it is), he rather chose to just sit there and stamp away with a bored expression of faint disgust on his beautiful face. Tsk, tsk. He never _got_ it.

But down on Earth, he won't have a choice. The trials and suffering that await him there will be no laughing matter. There he will be tested as he has never been tested before. His personal strife will be as horrific and shattering as any of the others', and yet I believe that down there in the world of mortals my Golden Cicada Child will have the chance to shine. His spirit will not be broken; his very arrogance will fire him and see him through the tempest – _as he never had the chance (or inclination) to meddle in the affairs of Heaven, down there on Earth the very fate of the world will rest in his hands._

That is his punishment, or his reward… or maybe it is both at the same time.

Perhaps that is the binding truth that applies to them all – their mortal lives ahead are fraught with misery, and horrible loss, and great trials… all except for your little friend, my Little One – we can do nothing for him but to subdue all his memories of Tenkai. But as for the others – in a sense they will be working off their karmic debt, that is true; but in another sense they are in for the grandest adventure of their lives.

In typical fashion they will refuse to be conquered by suffering, they will not bow down to Heaven's admonishment – oh no, my boys will turn their "punishment" around and transform it into a glorious joyride. You mark my words, those rascals will revel in their exile and wind up saving both Heaven and Earth in the end.

They are my wildflowers. They bloom where they're planted. They make the most they can out of what they've got, and they don't waste time bemoaning fate and misfortune. Like those brilliant blooms woven into your garland, they are hardy, they are survivors, and they are beautiful. They are _free_, above all… they refuse to cower, they will never submit, and _they_ will master fate, they won't allow fate to master _them_.

I know you miss your little friend. I know how you long for him. Because that is how I feel about all four of them, too. But until such a time that we see them again, all we can do is watch and wait.

Will you watch with me, Prince Nataku?

* * *

XxXxX

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive. Josephine Hart

XxXxX

TBC

* * *

**

* * *

A/N: Alright folks, this is where it gets tricky. The next chapters will now contain the song "Wildflower", and so I'm here to remind you in advance to please overlook the pronoun used and appreciate the spirit of the song instead.**

Also, for a glimpse of Befanini's teeny-tiny muses, check out "Sugar and Spice" at my deviantart page. XD


	6. Taboo Child

**November 20, 2006**

**iii. Taboo Child

* * *

**

XxXxX

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." – Anais Nin

"The very thing that you feel is going to destroy you may be the thing that will make you; and what you feel may be the end of you, may well be the beginning." – Anon.

XxXxX

* * *

His voice enslaved me from the very start. Way before I was even aware of it, before I had even glimpsed his face. He knocked, I opened my door – and his voice gripped me at once, even before my eyes had made their way up those priestly robes, past startlingly luminous alabaster skin, up that steely, determined jaw, past the scowl on those hard lips and the disdainful flare of that arrogant, finely chiseled nose… to collide with icy amethyst gems that bore through to my soul as surely as their owner's arresting voice had already pierced my heart.

It's strange. The bakazaru always yammers on about how Sanzo's hair is like the sun, but for me it's his voice that is so _incandescent_. So rich, so strong, so forceful, like the man himself. The timbre can vary from low and menacing to aloof and mocking to high-pitched and shrill with annoyance – and throughout all those moods it is so very beautiful, like Genjo Sanzo himself… whether brooding and sullen, thoughtful and pensive, arrogant and sarcastic, disdainful and high-and-mighty, livid and trigger-happy… or flushed with passion in my arms, gazing at me with liquid violet and holding me close with such tenderness… my Sanzo is beyond beautiful.

Ah, crap. Hell, go on and say it – I don't sound like myself, do I? Heh. But what can you expect from the ultimate playboy who has fallen from grace, and in so spectacular a fashion? I still grin to myself about it sometimes – when I actually take a step back and realize that Sanzo and I are together. _Together_ together. The "bad friends", now _lovers_. The two bad boys, the smokers, the egoists, the ones who couldn't even stand each other, trading insults and curses… and let me tell you this: "bastard" and "asshole" have acquired a special meaning to me, when he uses them as endearments.

Don't get me wrong – Sanzo can still be a prissy, arrogant, snooty, annoying-as-hell sonofabitch – and that's on his good days. His superior attitude still gets on my nerves; hell – we still irritate each other as much as we ever did. But that's the thing – that surface animosity toward each other is what _defines_ us. And more than that, it's what binds us most strongly together, ironically enough. Because we are so _alike, _him and I – it's a given that we hiss and snarl and scratch and bite every other minute, like two great wildcats fighting to prove who's the Alpha Male.

But that's just on the _outside._

Deep down, we've always shared a silent understanding; our souls spoke truly to each other where our lips would not. There has always been a grudging respect between us, an unwilling, secret admiration and approval of each other that allowed us to trade curses and insults which, under normal circumstances, would have been considered unforgivable.

And yet to us it was a sort of game – _it was the language we spoke_. I would tease, he would ridicule, I would taunt, he would mock – and still he stood tall in the middle of a pack of youkai, his gun empty, knowing without words that my Jakujou would slice through them all even if it meant I left myself open to danger.

Likewise, he's saved my ass countless times with a bullet (or three) out of nowhere – his precision deadly sharp for all that we tease him to death about it; and I would only be aware of him saving my life by the scorched ends of my hair and the dead demon at my feet, bullet hole smoking in his forehead… and our eyes would meet for a split-second, unspoken thanks in mine and brusque acknowledgement in his, and that would be that.

Yes, indeed… me and Sanzo – we had our own understanding. Beyond being drinking buddies, or having someone to share a quiet smoke with. In fact I recognized early on how good we could be together, even if only as friends – but the damn skittish bastard shied away from allowing anybody to get too close. Goku was different – he seemed stuck with the monkey whether he liked it or not – but as for anybody else… well. The most we ever got out of the great Genjo Sanzo in those early days was a bored declaration of "possession" – and I DO mean _ownership_, as in _things_: we were "his slaves".

Feh. That always got a rise out of me, but not for the reason you might probably think. You see, I saw right through him from the beginning; and those words always bothered me not because I took them as the insult they were meant to be, but because I was damn annoyed with the stubborn monk for refusing to be human like the rest of us – for refusing to admit that we were his friends – hell, I just wanted him to show any sign that he cared at all.

Because I sure as hell was starting to care for him a lot – and as if that were not enough, I was starting to care for him in ways I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

And dammit all if it wasn't Hakkai who prodded me into admitting my feelings. It was Hakkai who opened my eyes, and showed me just how _much_ I cared about that insufferably superior monk. That guy is just too damn perceptive, or too nosy, depending on how you look at it. Heh. I suppose you could also say that Hakkai knows me from the inside out.

It almost seems another lifetime ago, now, when I think back on that day – that golden, lazy afternoon that my best friend caught me staring (yet again) at our wounded leader, when he teased me in his usual frank way: _"He IS beautiful, isn't he?"_… Looking back now, I suppose in actual fact I might have given myself away even long before that… Because even though I'd been flirting with the beautiful monk from day one, in retrospect there was a subtle, but marked, change in my attitude toward Sanzo from the moment that Homura appeared to us. From then on, I watched Sanzo protectively… possessively… almost jealously. My feelings suddenly crystallized from being playful to being almost obsessed.

And when Sanzo fell…

That morning of the tryst, that awful dawn, when I watched helplessly as the bastard's great flaming sword aimed for the corrupt monk – as it cut through the solid gold breastplate as if it were nothing, as it cleaved through Sanzo's chest like a burning brand – I honestly thought I was going to die.

And when those scum, those sons of bitches, finally vanished with the sutra – I at last found my voice; and I never stopped to look if Goku was alive after that terrible blow that the War Prince had dealt him – I never stopped to ask if Hakkai was okay, if Shien hadn't harmed him – all I saw was Sanzo, the damn shitty monk, the most insufferably arrogant man in the world – lying in a motionless heap on the ground, deathly pale, his ribs cracked open, his flesh scorched from the fiery blade, gaping, bleeding… _oh God, bleeding, _his blood spreading out from him, his life ebbing away in a crimson flood, and all I remember is falling to my knees and screaming his name over and over – roaring in anguish, in fear, in utter denial.

Before this, I had seen him pierced with Rikudo's lance. Before this, I had seen him poisoned in the desert, barely alive. I had seen him mortally wounded in battle a dozen times before… or even just miserable in bed with another debilitating bout of flu, the weakest of us four in the first place, and in the second place him with his "weak" constitution.

But this time – for the first time – I couldn't _feel_ his spirit. This time he was slipping away… away from me.

It was then I knew how much he'd come to matter to me… how much he was already a _part_ of me – and how I couldn't bear to 'survive' if _he_ wasn't there to survive _with_ me.

This brusque, caustic, aloof man had become such an integral part of my life, of _myself_, without me even being aware of it. He'd given me back Gonou, he'd confirmed my stubborn belief in survival, he'd redeemed my soul by forcing me to see that I was using my legacy as a half-breed to shun the world. He opened my eyes to the fact that my red hair and eyes don't mean half as much as I'd always mistakenly supposed – he showed me how arrogant I was to assume that the world owed me something for being born taboo. He forced me to admit my own vanity, my misguided pride, in using my red hair and eyes as an excuse to live a defeated life.

_Do you honestly think that blood is the only red thing in this world? You're as stupid as you look._

He told me I _wasn't_ "special" – he convinced me that I wasn't singular, that my taboo coloring wasn't a good enough reason to feel sorry for myself, to humbly accept a life lived in the shadows.

_Red is the color of blood. The color of life._ He reminded me of that truth that I had instinctively known a long time ago. In his enigmatic, ruthless way, he shamed me into standing tall and looking every man in the eye – not with the challenging defiance I had so long worn as a mask – but with the proud, quiet dignity that he had gifted me with, by treating me as just another bastard… instead of treating me as a worthless, dirty halfbreed.

_BAKA!!!_ He roars to this day – and man that is sweet to hear; because that means he sees me – that means I am no outcast living on the fringes of life; I am right there, smack in the middle of his face, and he _sees _me. Enough to feel the urge to knock me away.

…Hn. You know what the opposite of love is, right? It's not hate. Oh no. It's _indifference._ And Genjo Sanzo has never, ever, been indifferent to me.

I remember saying once that life was almost too easy… Earn the next meal with a few games of cards, pick up another pretty, nameless face for company at night… It was almost routine. Too boring, Too fucking _easy_… Feh. That was all BULL, of course. Because even living that "easy life" only meant being at the top of the lowest rung in the ladder, if you know what I mean. Hell, it was basic comforts – keeping my belly fed and a roof over my head at night, with a warm, willing body to satisfy a man's urges – what the hell kind of easy life was that? I had no ambitions to further myself, I had no goal to work towards, I had no dreams to reach for – because secretly I had decided that those foolish fantasies were not for me to have, or even think of: this empty life was all that a half-breed like me deserved.

… Shit, I was such a fucking coward.

My life now is far from easy, in contrast… but it is the choice I made, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Especially when it comes to loving that damn corrupt monk. Heh. Half the time I still don't know whether I want to throttle him or gobble him up. It is too endearing the way he colors up when he catches me gazing at him, or the way he squirms and glares when I just forget and call him 'baby' or 'angel' aloud. He still reacts the same way to flirting (which is to say he will have absolutely _none_ of it); and he still shoves me off with a murderous growl if I try putting an arm around him in public.

That's just the way Sanzo is.

The difference this time is that I don't do any of those things to provoke him – which used to be my "official excuse" whenever I found myself wondering what the _hell_ I was doing, flirting with a guy. I used to do those things primarily to tease him; but now I honestly can't help myself – I'm simply so addicted to the man that if I'm not looking at or touching him in some way, I feel lost… like a part of me is missing.

The same is true for us in the bedroom. Sex with Sanzo is beyond fantastic. It truly feels like spontaneous combustion each time; we are so hungry for each other that too much is not even enough. I used to love teasing him by calling him "ice princess", and true to his contradictory nature he's proven time and again that he is just the opposite. I've had too many partners to count – a legacy of my days as the aimless playboy – but it is only with Sanzo that I've ever felt like I was drowning in bliss. Not just finding physical satisfaction in the moment of release; but savoring the total experience of making love.

Yes, uncharacteristic as that might sound for Sha Gojyo and Genjo Sanzo – _we make love._

Of course with the electric magnetism that crackles ever-present between us, I suppose you can also accurately call it wild, searingly hot, passionate fucking; and you would be right, but you would only be half right. The other half of it is the pleasure that has less to do with the act of sex and more to do with losing ourselves in each other: drowning in slow caresses, gasping in each other's ears, clutching each other tight as the pleasure intensifies to fever-pitch… moaning into each other's mouths as skin glides on skin, until it seems like we could actually achieve the impossible and _melt into_ each other as we both cry out the other's name.

Believe it or not, I have _never_ felt that way before about any of the women I've bedded. Whether unconsciously or not, all my life I've been looking for something… looking for that spark that would awaken me, make me feel _alive. _But the only thing all those women ever stirred in me was a resigned kind of contentment – just the satiation of a physical need, just the comfort of sleeping beside another human soul, while perhaps convincing myself for a night or two that I wasn't lonely.

With Sanzo it is the opposite. With him I feel not resignation, but elation. With him I feel not just contentment, but a bone-deep satisfaction, like a man who could ask for nothing more. He fulfills me. He completes me. He makes me whole. With him the need I feel is not just of the flesh; where he is concerned, I'm a greedy bastard – I want _all_ of him: his body, his heart, his soul.

Miracle of miracles, he's given them to me… do you remember?

_My heart is yours. My body is yours. Nothing else matters._

And so "sex" is not nearly enough. What I most cherish is the time spent after just holding him; or even better yet, _him_ holding _me_ – breathing each other, feeling each other, listening to each other's heartbeats. Our time alone, just the two of us, with our restless souls finding tranquility in each other.

_No other will do._

That is what sets him apart from all the rest who have shared my bed in the past. They were all interchangeable, all faceless, all nameless in the end… claiming my body and nothing else.

Whereas Genjo Sanzo – angel faced, purple-eyed, corrupt and worldly and enigmatic… the man owns me _completely_.

Understand I don't love him because he "saved" me – because he turned my crimson admonishment into my red badge of courage – no matter how big an impact that has made on my life. Even _had_ he shunned me as a child of taboo, I still would have been captivated by him. I still would follow him to the ends of the earth.

It's not simply because he is so beautiful, no matter how much his face takes my breath away. It is, I admit, part of the reason – because, well hell – how many guys do you meet everyday who could put to shame some of the loveliest women on earth? Which is not to say that Sanzo is in the least bit feminine, by the way, no matter how many times I've teased him about it. It takes a real MAN to wear those cream-colored robes and that silken veil and still look so damn arresting and charismatic and sexy as hell.

And yet I maintain that Sanzo's beauty is not why I love him; or to be perfectly truthful, it's not the _only_ reason.

Because this is not just infatuation that I feel.

And it's nothing so complicated as a "mother complex" either, however intriguing idea that may be – with me pining for the love of the beautiful, shining creature who only felt loathing for me. My Sanzo is not a substitute for the love I couldn't get – or more accurately, the pitiful hunger I had for my stepmother's love is a far cry from the overwhelming longing I have always felt for this man. The yearning that consumes me where Genjo Sanzo is concerned has no logic and bears no comparison to the plaintive clamoring for simple affection that I had as a child.

None of that shit matters in the end.

He is he and I am I and that is enough. He is all the dreams I didn't know I had – had I guessed all those years ago, when the knock came on my door and I beheld him – if anybody would have told me then that this snooty, arrogant face would be the end of me – I would have laughed myself silly.

But that is the wonder of it… this world-weary man, this jaded soul, touched a chord in me, he fired my blood in every possible way. From that first electric meeting… to getting to know him in his moods: his haughty ego, his disdain for the ordinary, his touch-me-not, superior attitude that always rubbed me the wrong way… to discovering the man hidden within: the one so strong he makes me weak, so charismatic, so _intense_ that I'm incinerated by his radiance. He has revealed a sincerity in me that I've only exposed once or twice to Hakkai in our heart-to-heart talks; but Sanzo elicits it from me effortlessly, just by being who he is: so solitary, so proud, and so vulnerable under that façade of sarcasm.

Alone with him I lose all my tough-guy bravado, my careless, flippant mask fades away; the carefree playboy vanishes, the happy-go-lucky kappa disappears; and I am only _me, _Gojyoand I am simply overcome with the desire to worship him, to claim him, to have _him_ possess _me_… to mark him over and over as _mine_.

Foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, self-absorbed, utterly captivating Sanzo. My corrupt monk. Genjo Sanzo of the moonlit skin, and sunkissed hair, and piercing violet eyes, and that whiskey voice that enslaves me. My downfall. My savior. My weakness and my strength. My mate. My equal.

_My Sanzo._

The way I see it, even at the best of times life can be full of shit – you play the hand you're dealt, you survive as best as you can, and you snatch any drop of pleasure every chance you get. That's always been my song. But just because your life is a tragedy is no reason for _you _to be tragic. Eat, drink, and be merry has always been my motto. And it's always been good enough for me.

It wasn't until Genjo Sanzo stole my heart that I learned how shallow, how incomplete, that outlook in life really was. Loving him has opened my eyes and shown me – with all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. For the first time I know how _sweet_ it is to truly be _alive_ – I am no longer suspended in a defiant existence, stubbornly clinging to life, surviving against all odds just to be contrary and say 'fuck you' to the world. No, for the first time I actually feel exhilarated – that piece of shit, crabby, beautiful monk has truly enlightened and awakened me.

All my life I've always known that I was looking for something – looking for that someone I could spend the rest of my life with… and you know what? I found something _else_. I didn't find that someone I can "live with" – Genjo Sanzo is the hardest man alive to live with, believe you me – what I found instead was the one I cannot live _without_.

Him.

My Sanzo.

* * *

XxXxX

"I am because we are. " – Anon.

"Love is the extra effort we make in our dealings with those whom we do not like and once you understand that, you understand all. This idea that love overtakes you is nonsense. This is but a polite manifestation of sex. To love another you have to undertake some fragment of their destiny." – Quentin Crisp

XxXxX

* * *

A/N: I've changed my mind – in order to preserve the "feel" of the story I've decided to put the song whole at the very end, to be posted together with the final chapter. Author's prerogative. XD TBC… 


	7. Nobody's Child

**December 8, 2006**

**iii. Nobody's Child

* * *

**

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." – E M Forster

XxXxX

* * *

There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of you. I still hear your voice in my head, I still recall your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes twinkled whenever you teased me. I can still smell your hair… I can still remember the feel of your hands caressing my face… I can still taste the sweetness of your lips, and how your body felt wrapped around mine, and your soft cries in my ear. I still remember your face.

_Sinner._

Yes, and sometimes I still get the occasional nightmares, and I go through the hell of losing you all over again… and the doubts and the guilt come back in full force to haunt me.

If only I'd gotten home sooner.

If only I'd thought to keep the blade away from you.

If only you _weren't_ my sister, then I could stop wondering if all of it was simply just and true, after all – and we were only punished as we deserved.

If only…

These days, though, I don't have the luxury of wallowing in despair, even had I wanted to. How can I, with a hyperactive monkey, a mischievous kappa and a neurotic High Priest demanding my care and attention? And trust me, it is not pride that speaks when I say that the whole mission would be shot to hell without me – it's just the simple truth. Hm. It sometimes feels like I've been babysitting these three guys far longer than I even remember.

They are my family now. They are my reason for going on. When you were taken from me – when you took _yourself _from me – I truly went mad; I wanted nothing more than oblivion, to be past all care and worry, all happiness and sorrow alike. Numbness was not even close to enough – what I felt, what I didn't feel, what I had lost, was too deep even for tears. There was no relief for me, no matter where I turned… all I wanted was blessed _release_; and if death was the only way out, so be it.

Luckily for me a certain free-spirited, perverse redhead refused to let me die; he resisted the broken plea in my dead eyes to deliver the rest of my body to death's hands as well – and it is due to his hasty and ruthless act of literally shoving my guts back inside myself that I am left with this nasty scar today. No, don't get me wrong. I didn't say the wound was his fault. Only the scar is his doing, and yes I do "blame" him for that – I owe him for knitting my body back together. That is what a scar is, after all – lasting evidence left of your tissues re-knitting themselves in the process of healing.

And so I live, and so I still breathe, because of Sha Gojyo.

Luckily for me a certain high-spirited, innocent boy knocked my hand away from gauging into my second eye: if not for that, I would be completely blind. But thank God for Goku – I retain my vision of the blue sky and the green earth, a half-vision though it may be. And so now I need to turn my head if I want a broad scope of my surroundings – and it is good to have the necessity of that extra effort if I don't want my world to be so narrow. It is good to still be able to see the faces of my friends, good to be able to read my books, good to see the sun set, driving behind the wheel while my companions sleep the hours away until we reach the next town. If not for my glass eye, I don't think I would truly appreciate the real eye that I have left.

And so I still see, and so I still have the gift of color and light and shape and shadow, because of Son Goku.

Luckily for me a certain enigmatic, ruthless High Priest saw it more fitting to "punish" me with a new life, rather than granting me the easy way out with a bullet. A few brusque, harsh words were all it took for him to shatter all the precious illusions that once again threatened to consume me in my anguish at losing you. For despite meeting the man who saved my life against my wishes, and who was to become my best friend – I was still a ticking bomb inside; I used Sha Gojyo's kindness, took advantage of the shelter and comfort he offered me to get better – yes, to get well just enough so that I could walk away and put an end to my life as he refused to do so for me.

But Genjo Sanzo would have none of it; he scoffed at my pain and pitied me for allowing my suffering to render me spineless, instead of using it as mettle to grow some backbone… as I later found out is the way he lives his life. And the way Gojyo lives his, as a matter of fact.

And so Sanzo brought me before the Temple and argued for my life – for me, the sinner, the murderer, the one with the blood of a thousand youkai on his hands. At that moment the lost orphan in me was finally set free – with the new name to go with my new life I was at last reborn, and I was no longer nobody's child, but a Child of the Temple, as the layman's sash I wear to this day attests. With Cho Gonou died all the illusions I had clung to for most of my life – bitterness, anger, despair, and the worst of them all: the terrible apathy that had so consumed me as a child in the orphanage, and was about to consume again, when I lost the one dearest to me.

And so I am reborn, and so I am set free, and so my life now has a purpose, because of Genjo Sanzo.

And yet… great friends as they are, and great though their impact has been in my life, and great though the debt I owe to them for it all… it is still _your_ influence that has the ultimate bearing upon it all, Kanan. Knowing you, even if only for that short time we had together, has truly changed me forever. My selfish nature might have caused me to go insane when first I lost you; but without the gentle strength your spirit has imparted to these hands, nothing they did would have made any difference. Not Gojyo saving my life, not Goku rescuing my sight, not Sanzo giving me another chance. Without the sound of your voice echoing in my mind, without your dear presence still alive in my heart and soul, I couldn't have mustered the will to go on.

It is the thought of your disappointment, and your grief, that stays me when the old darkness threatens to overwhelm me again. It is the rebuke I hear in your voice that shames me when I feel myself giving in. It is the memory of us that calms and soothes me whenever it rains. It is the pride you gave me that lends me the determination to carry on without you.

It is the wish to still _become_ the man you saw in me, that keeps me holding on… and breathing… and trying... because of you.

Much like Gojyo and Sanzo now find meaning in each other, as strange as that miracle is… I still find meaning to hope, to dream, to go on, _because of you_. Even without you beside me to share in it all, as we always planned. I think of it now as making the most of the rest of my time here on earth, so as to meet you on the other side without shame and regret.

And so… if you'll forgive me, Kanan… for just a little while… I would like to live for my own sake. I can no longer say that I live _for_ you – that would only be another illusion, another pointless lie, because you _are_ gone from me. Even bathing in the blood of a thousand demons was not enough to keep you, and over time I've made my peace with that. At first I wondered if it's really okay for me to be here, alive, after the crimes I've committed, after the lives I've taken, and most of them innocent lives – but I have decided to let go of the guilt, together with the rest of it. If nothing else, I am now one of the youkai that I so hated; and even if that is not punishment enough, I no longer have the will nor the desire to seek a defeatist life of "atonement".

These three guys have taught me that much. Life is filled with misery enough as it is; why waste it shrouding yourself in wretchedness when you could be chasing after happiness? And even if the prize proves ultimately elusive, the journey itself is worth it.

Gojyo embraces life as the gift that it is, despite being born an outcast. It is in fact testament to his grit and character that he should be so free-spirited and easygoing today, considering how he has always been treated so poorly simply because of the color of his hair and eyes. Just the fact that he still sensed the danger to me – as I never could fathom why I couldn't for you – the fact that he knew I was in danger and led Sanzo and Goku to me, despite me earlier only having _fed_ his demons with my cold, _foolish_ words of "penance" and the color of "blood" – that he was _still_ determined to keep me alive despite life being so unfair to _him_ – that truly shamed me into continuing the struggle, instead of giving in to the void. His stubborn insistence on his right to exist has kindled my own wish to survive, to matter, to make a difference to this seemingly indifferent world.

And Goku… Goku reflects on me the innocence I always wish I had had. He reacts to everything as if experiencing it all for the first time, even something so simple as food – and his intense yet childlike enthusiasm for the temporal world has awakened me, it has refreshed my view and made me appreciate the simplest of things, wherein true joy can be found: a good meal, a good book, good friends, a nice long nap, the wind on my face, the moon and stars above.

As for Sanzo… He defies everyone and everything – he lives by his own rules, and believes in himself so totally that somehow it makes perverse sense that our High Priest should smoke and curse and drink and wield a gun. In the same way, it is also fitting that he, the lone human of our group, should be the one leading us – and it is only more proof of his inner strength. _The spirit is willing, so the flesh better damn well follow_ – it is this attitude above all that leaves me so in awe, and secures my total respect for the man. I am on this Divine Mission on the explicit instructions of the Sanbutsushin, yes; but I am also here because I wish to prove myself – that my life was worth bargaining for, as Sanzo did for me.

And so here I am today, and at last I can honestly say that I am thankful to be alive, and that I live for myself. I am Cho Hakkai now, and I am proud of it. But I will never forget Cho Gonou, as I will never forget you. I think perhaps Gonou died with you that rainy night, the moment my dagger pierced your heart by your own hand – and yet part of him remains with this "demonslayer" that I am today; Cho Hakkai who is part human and part youkai, one of the Sanzo-ikkou traveling West on a divine mission, far removed from the simple schoolteacher I used to be.

Your Gonou lives on in these gentle hands that heal, in this quiet voice that soothes, and the smile that now comes easily to my lips and reaches my eyes. I will keep you close and safe in a corner of my heart, knowing that if someday I should find someone to love again, if I should be doubly blessed to have the kind of togetherness that Gojyo and Sanzo share – that _you and I_ shared – I know that no one will be happier for me than you.

Jamatane… Kanan.

* * *

XxXxX

I hold it true, whate'er befall

I feel it when I sorrow most –

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

XxXxX

* * *

**

* * *

A/N: "Jamatane", literally, "See you soon"; or, "Until we meet again". TBC…**


	8. Earth's Child

**A/N:** I am abominably _sorry_ for the long delay. That's what happens when I get hooked up to the Internet at home. XD

* * *

**iii. Earth's Child**

XxXxX

Best of all is it to preserve everything in a pure, still heart, and let there be for every pulse a thanksgiving; and for every breath a song. – Konrad Von Gesner

XxXxX

* * *

He's always been my sun, always. Glowing with a brightness that not even the deepest dark can swallow up. And although the dreams I had in the cave remain blurry and vague, and though the few times I've faintly recalled some other form that burned with his radiance vanished as soon as my limiter was restored – I do perfectly recall the time he came for me… that brilliant, blue day when he walked up out of nowhere and blocked my view of the sun.

Suddenly he was there, after days and days, after endless years of hoping and waiting – and not even the sun could compare to the light that shone from him… from his hair, from his face, from his eyes. When he stood there before me, I suddenly felt that it was all worth it – the emptiness and the silence and the solitude I had endured were as nothing; they were a small price to pay that brought me to this moment when I saw him face to face again.

Again.

That seems like a strange word, but it feels right. Because I felt then in that instant that I had known him before… that I'd known him forever.

I still do.

That day he held out his hand to me… and the chains and the shackles that had bound me for so long surrendered me to him so readily, crumbling to nothingness with a faint sigh as if they too had only been waiting for him to come so they could finally let go.

Whatever else happens, I will remember that day for as long as I live.

I can't explain exactly how I feel about him. Affection, loyalty, awe – none of those words are enough. Love, perhaps, but even love is a poor word to fully express the joy and contentment I feel just knowing I _belong _to him.

Yes, I belong to him, although I cannot claim that _he_ belongs to _me_ – Sanzo belongs to no one but himself, I think; not even to Gojyo to whom he has now opened his heart. But I don't mind, and that's not the point. The point is that Sanzo and I share a bond that is ours alone, a connection that is as old as time, as infinite as the stars above on a really clear night. He and I share an understanding that is solid and ancient and true. And nothing can change that – not being apart for five hundred years, not him wearing a different face and bearing a different name, not the minus wave we have been appointed to reverse, nor the revival experiment we've been ordered to prevent.

Not a tragic soul from a distant past… from another world… a being who had an eye the same as me, who seemed to suffer a pain that I can only dimly recall suffering too… No, not even he who taught me the full measure of my ability, the one who I realized I looked up to, respected, and had even come to love – not even he could come between me and Sanzo.

And so if my episode with Homura made no difference, then neither does Sanzo's relationship with Gojyo now. I meant what I said to the erogappa when we had our little talk. _I don't mind at all._ And I meant what I said to Sanzo too when _we_ had our own heart-to-heart: _I'm glad that Gojyo makes him shine._

It makes me happy to see Sanzo looking more relaxed and content than I've ever seen him before. It gives me a nice feeling inside seeing him smile nowadays, hearing him laugh, even. There's a tiny softening in his eyes, a new warmth in his voice, as if the fire of the kappa's eyes and hair have melted an invisible wall of ice that has kept Sanzo so distant and so cold for so long.

Of course being Sanzo he scolds like the devil if anyone should dare bring up the subject of him and Gojyo, and the harisen is ever-ready to shut anyone up who dares to speak of their relationship. Hehe. Yes, even Hakkai has tasted the sting of the fan for the first time; but as I told him, he's still darn lucky – because not even Sanzo's punishments hurt quite as much as they used to do.

Being with Gojyo has revealed a temperance in Sanzo, a very subtle gentling of his nature that none but the three of us could really notice. But it's there. He doesn't brood as much as he did, a certain shadow has gone from his eyes, and his voice is just that bit less sharp.

In fact he now glows much _brighter_ than the sun.

Yes he does. It's as if being with Gojyo has lifted away an invisible veil that up till now Sanzo was wearing like a cloak to hide his true brilliance. But now there is no hiding the happiness that Sanzo has found in loving and being loved – and it is this which magnifies his beauty, and his radiance, that sometimes my eyes hurt to look at him and I have to look away.

But you know what? He sees it, he senses – and he won't allow any awkwardness between the two of us to spring from him and Gojyo being together; just like Gojyo makes sure that Hakkai feels no less special to him, no less his best friend, his "precious person". Because that is what we are to them. Sanzo and Gojyo are in love with each other; but Hakkai and I – we are the kindred souls to whom each of them is bound, without reason, without explanation, without question.

Naturally since it's Sanzo, he only frowns when I get self-conscious and stammer, looking from him to Gojyo – and I get a mild swat with the fan and the irritated snort – "'Ch! Don't be an idiot, bakazaru!" And then he reaches out and messes my hair, and he looks me in the eye and I nod and scratch my nose sheepishly and we're okay.

And we really are. I feel no less special to him even with him caring for Gojyo so much. There is just no comparison. Because truly, I have never felt the way it's obvious that the kappa feels for him – I've never thought of Sanzo that way. I love him fiercely and completely, yes – as a father perhaps, or more truly as an older brother; although even that cannot begin to describe it. I look up to him, I cherish his words, and his hand on my forehead saying good-night; I worry when he's sick or silent or unhappy. I feel lost without him, as I did when Homura kept me in chains, as I did all those long silent years in my cave.

The way Gojyo loves Sanzo, I think, is that the kappa could quite cheerfully say goodbye to this mission and turn his back on the world and carry Sanzo off to a place where he and Sanzo could just be together forever.

As for me, it's a different desire. All I want is to be sure of Sanzo's safety, and his health, and his happiness. Seeing Sanzo happy makes me happy. When he snorts and mutters "stupid monkey" in that oddly affectionate, cross way and I feel his hand on my head, warm and solid and strong, I feel that there is nothing I cannot do, no one I cannot be. He is my inspiration and the light that makes me grow, like the flowers turn their faces to the sun.

As long as Sanzo is there, the sky seems bluer and food tastes more delicious. More than a few times now I have been told of my "legacy", the "power" that I bear, that I am Seiten Taisei Son Goku, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven – but without Sanzo to restore me to myself then I am just another bloodthirsty demon, aren't I? So you see my soul truly does belong to him – for whatever reason, only he can quiet the beast that apparently lives inside me, only his voice can reach me wherever I am, when nothing else can… just like _my_ voice reached _him_.

He and Gojyo belong to each other the way that "lovers" do, and that's fine. Because the way that I belong to Sanzo hasn't changed and will never change. He is the wisdom that teaches me, the hands that freed me, the will that protects me, the heart that gave me a home… the voice that gave me my name.

_He gave me my name._

Yes, I believe that, even if I can't explain how I'm so sure of it, even if I clearly recall telling _him_ my name all those years ago when he had come to release me. I just know that my name is a gift given to me by the one who shines like the sun.

So as long as "my sun" shines, so long as he lives and breathes, I want nothing more than to walk beside him and keep him company, to protect him and to hear him say my name, through this journey and beyond.

Sanzo is the sun and I am the sunflower, content and perfectly happy in my little patch of earth, bending and swaying with the breezes as I follow his progress through the sky. His light nourishes me, it is from _him_ that I draw power and strength… just as I remind him perhaps of what is simple and pure and honest in this world.

We are stuck with each other, him and I, and Gojyo and Hakkai too. The sense of rightness that flooded me when Sanzo set me free became a sense of true belonging, of happy completion, that night that we first met Gojyo and Hakkai. It was as if pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle had fallen into place, somehow. Just as I'd known that I belonged with Sanzo, I also knew that the both of us belonged with the two of them as well – that the four of us together were all parts of a whole, just as there are four seasons in a year: spring, summer, winter and fall. I don't know how this journey will end, nor what waits for us at the end of the long road to the west. If all that we have gone through so far is any indication of what's ahead, then there are sure to be more hard times coming… more sorrow, more loss.

We could very possibly even lose each other, the four of us. I could lose Sanzo. But I try not to think about it too much. There is still a long way to go, and in the meantime there is the great big blue sky, the wind on my face, heaps of food along the way, card games and mahjong sessions on our stops, nights of stargazing with Hakkai. Rousing arguments with the erogappa, now more than ever. Heh. And Sanzo's hand on my head in the deep of night, mutely blessing me without words.

Whatever happens, I have them – Gojyo, Hakkai, Hakuryu. And I have Sanzo. Sometimes there is a tiny premonition that whispers to me, about my part in this mission; about what I will have to do, what I'll have to sacrifice when the moment comes. The voice that whispers to me is one I do not know and yet one that is so very familiar… a child-like voice I remember laughing with, telling stories with, crying with. He seems to be a part of me that I left behind a long, long time ago… a missing piece of the puzzle, someone to whom I have something important to tell.

The thought of what I may have to give up at the end of this journey is something I would rather not dwell on. When it comes, _if_ it comes, then it will come. And even if it means letting go of the ones that I love – of the one that I love above all – I won't be afraid, because I know in my heart that we will find each other again. Five hundred, ten thousand years – what does it matter? We belong together, and that is that.

Sanzo and I.

Gojyo and Hakkai.

The four of us, together.

_I know._

The sun is forever.

And so are we.

* * *

XxXxX

"Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you."

XxXxX

* * *

TBC.


	9. Heaven's Child

**April 19, 2007**

**iii. Heaven's Child

* * *

**

XxXxX

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

– Walt Emerson

"Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string." – Ralph Waldo Emerson

"I worshipped dead men for their strength, forgetting I was strong." – Vita Sackville-West

XxXxX

* * *

He calls me "angel". _Me. _This cold and cynical soul, this corrupt and disillusioned being. This hypocritical bastard on a "divine" mission to "save" the world, who in reality wants nothing more then simple, calculated revenge. I am a creature seeking blood in retribution for the anguish that tore me apart; I am a cold and ruthless animal who would rather bite any hand that seeks to comfort me than risk opening my heart ever again… I am this sick and twisted and ugly _thing_, and he calls me his angel.

…And the miracle of it is, that lying in his arms… cradled in his embrace, and with tender lips pressing worshipful kisses on my brow – I see myself through his eyes… and I am _beautiful_.

For the first time in my life, what I see in the mirror is how I feel inside. What an irony that it took _him_, the bane of my life, to set me free from the burden of my guilt, my despair, and my bitterness. And what amazes me the most, what overwhelms me, is that he accomplished it without seeking to change anything about me – it is in fact my arrogance and my fierce spirit and my pride that he cherishes above all. He embraces me fully, with open arms – my temper, my short patience, my foul moods and caustic tongue. He loves me – or so he says – not despite these faults, but _because_ of them.

Hn. Typical perverse kappa. Silly fool. Idiot, in fact… or perhaps the slyest fox that ever existed, knowing exactly how to worm his way in: through sheer, stubborn, unconditional acceptance of the imperfect, flawed bastard that is Genjo Sanzo… and all the while telling me with those soulful, merry, tender red orbs, that in his eyes… I am flawless.

Whole.

His hands tell me that, and strangely enough, I _become_ it. Whole. The broken pieces of me gather themselves up, fit themselves together, seamlessly, _flawlessly_, at his command… enveloped with his fierce and pure and total worship, I am rendered complete, I become the perfect me – just me, nameless, neither river rat nor the last hope of Shangri-La or Tenkai or whoever or whatever the fuck it is I am duty-bound to serve… neither tragic Kouryu the abandoned child twice orphaned nor corrupt Sanzo the leader of a rag-tag team heading West on a one-way trip to save the world.

No… in his arms, I am simply _me_, his equal, his mate, his lover – the unconventional half that completes _his_ half, that translates into the whole that we become together. ...In fact, you could say that Sha Gojyo is the nirvana that I achieve without meditation. Hn.

I can't say precisely when the disdain turned into fascination… In the early days he was nothing more than another goddamn pervert who seemed to have a freakish absorption with how I looked: just another man in a long line of men I had encountered who were drawn irresistibly to this damnable pretty face, this startling combination of pale skin and gold hair and purple eyes. Back then his teasing and innuendoes and flirting simply irritated the hell out of me, and thus my biting remarks and hostile attitude toward him. What I failed to realize was that his actions did not _repel_ me, as the other men's leering did. I might have been annoyed, but it was not revulsion that I felt.

In fact, it was something else… something that made me all the more haughty and aloof toward him. He was starting to be _compelling_ to me… it was a shock to discover that I was getting used to his teasing, and had even come to _expect_ his flirting with me… and got inexplicably angry and excessively violent with him when he turned his charms on random pretty girls.

I started to crave all his attention for myself.

His boldness, his defiance, his strength spoke to me. His fierce, protective nature towards the weak and the humble belied his seeming arrogance and flippancy. His soft heart somehow shone through, as warm and pulsing red as the shocking color of his hair and eyes. Even early on, I saw how he valued friendship. He protected and cherished the ones he held dear, and back then it was Gonou, and back then his stubborn loyalty meant he was willing to be accomplice to a crime he didn't even know his roommate had committed. He even had a way with children that was… endearing. He and Goku might send me to an early grave with their constant petty quarrels, but Gojyo is the one who would offer his arm (literally) to protect Son Goku's life.

And above all… he _respected_ me. Whatever sass came out of his mouth, no matter the dirty, disgruntled looks he shot at me, or the calculated insults designed to blow my blood-pressure sky-high: Sha Gojyo respected me. He respects _me_, the man that I am, in a way that nobody ever has.

People in the streets kowtow to my face when they see these robes and scriptures, and then whisper ill-conceived speculation and gossip behind my back. The monks in whatever temples I seek shelter in tremble with awe and veneration at my title, and then sneer amongst themselves, questioning Koumyou Sanzo's choice for his heir. Everywhere I go, it's the same. Bloody idiots blinded by highfaluting ideals, prostrating themselves at my feet, and all the while looking sideways at me and my unshaved head and my gun and my cigarettes and my piercing, direct stare that is anything but holy – or whatever their concept of holy must be.

Goku does not even count – the kid is consumed with adulation and is too guileless and honest to take into account. Hakkai started out as Gonou, beholden to me for his life; and besides – the man himself is the embodiment of respect and proper decorum. Hakkai would be respectful to anyone and everyone even if they were about to tear his head off.

Whereas he… Gojyo, a child of the streets, a half-breed who has suffered his own share of disrespect and disillusion and society-imposed shame… He who would be the most likely candidate to hold contempt for me – never has. His words and his manner might have suggested it, but contrary to how it appears to the outside world, it was just a man-to-man thing. He insulted my sharp tongue, he scoffed at my apathy, he sneered at my aloof nature – but never once made reference to my title, never once made it _personal_. It was just his goddamn smart mouth talking back to another male who was every bit as arrogant as him.

Nothing more, nothing less.

When it came to the things that really mattered, Sha Gojyo respected me. It was there in his eyes. In the way he opened his soul and his suffering to me. In the way he trusted me to save Gonou. In the way he took part in this mission, conceding to be led by "the piece of shit monk". In fact, it is _precisely_ the way he says 'kuso bouzu' so casually and irreverently that tells me how he sees me and _values_ me: as the _man_, and not as the 'priest'.

_Sha Gojyo sees me._

Sha Gojyo has _always_ seen me.

And those times when I caught him staring in earnest… those furtive glances that he secretly stole when he thought I wasn't paying attention… those were the times that stole my breath – because those eyes were filled not with flirting or teasing, or exaggerated lust… but with a tenderness that stung, sheer longing that pierced me to the core… and a deep, steady flame that engulfed me and captured my soul. Tell me, what else was I to do, but surrender? Surrender to him. Surrender to myself. Surrender to _us_.

He _burned_.

He burns me to this day.

He is the fire to my ice, melting away all indifference and apathy and unfeeling… he releases some unknown part of me that is feral and savage in my obsession, ravenous in my hunger for him, wild and uninhibited, all-consuming and insatiable with longing and need and want of him. I feel so _much_, nowadays, with just a look into his eyes… just the merest brush of his skin, that it sometimes feels like dying inside – a slow, sweet death… _la petite mort_, in fact, that we share together – not unlike total, pure oblivion to everything else: in each other's arms, we and we alone exist.

Yes, he is the fire to my ice, the blunt edge to my sharp, the irreverent humor to my caustic wit. We just fit together, ironically enough. Because when you look beneath the surface "like poles" that outwardly repelled us away from each other… you find the perfect complements that fall into place so naturally that there can be no question of its _rightness_.

My discipline tames his impulsiveness. His playfulness tempers my seriousness. My self-control evens out his recklessness. His spontaneity mellows my obstinacy. My thoughtfulness quiets his restlessness; his light-hearted spirit brightens the dark corners of my soul.

In our own ways, we are each of us intense, spirited individuals – bold and arrogant and defiant – and yet what a mystery it is that we fit together so beautifully.

Not perfectly, no – the idiot is still too fundamentally annoying a creature for a seamless, smooth fit: he can still be so goddamn provoking, and irritating; testing the limits of my patience with his juvenile quibbling with Goku, his outrageous swagger and cocky attitude; driving me up the wall with his romantic notions of endearments and secret signs and inappropriate stolen touches; lighting the short end of my fuse with daring, open taunts and insults when he doesn't get his way, resorting to calling me "Sanzo-chan" when I snap his head off.

…And yet … Gojyo just would not _be_ the delicious, _wicked_ rogue that is my lover without that spice of naughtiness and irreverence that is part of his nature. And besides, when it comes down to it – the poor bastard has to put up with this sullen, foul-tempered, acid-tongued devil too. If he can embrace my faults and love me for it, I sure as hell can tolerate his… to a point. Hn. Otherwise the harisen will settle the matter, as it always effectively does.

He used to revenge himself – and occasionally still does, when he acts like a brat – by calling me "ice princess". But from the very beginning, Gojyo _knew_ I was far from being "cold". If anything, I felt things to the extreme. In the early days it was his chief amusement to crack my carefully constructed façade with well-aimed taunts, almost always guaranteed to get a rise out of me and earn him a cutting remark in retaliation. Back then, I used to marvel at the asshole's sheer appetite for punishment, and put it down to a sadomasochistic streak in him, irritating pervert that he was in my eyes.

It is only now that it dawns fully on me, what he was really trying to do. He sensed my _intensity_, somehow, the shrewd bastard – and he honestly considered it more blessing than burden – and tried in his perverse, impulsive way to break down the barriers that held me so rigid… he wanted that intensity to break free, because it's when I internalize it that it turns into my curse.

Hmph. The wily imp now basks in that very intensity that he has unleashed, declaring himself blessed over and over to the only one who is privy to the rawness of my innermost emotions.

And yet… how can I begrudge the little fool his gloating, when with him I feel so very _free_ for the first time in my life? Even back then, living with my Master, I was bound by the rules of the monks, bound by my duties, bound by my debt to the Temple for them having taken me in. After my Master died, I was bound yet again by the need for revenge, and bound by duty too, to retrieve that which belonged to me.

Even this Journey West binds me to the sunset road, ever onward; through multiple goddamn distractions and hordes of idiots along the way.

…And even when the mission is complete my name and my title binds me to return to the temple and live out my life, as per the dictates of this holy office – with me the 31st Toa, the chosen of Buddha.

Bound forever.

Not so with him. Never with him. That is the strangest thing of all… I am his, willingly – I belong completely to him by virtue of Gojyo making no claims on me, save for loving me so much, and asking only to be loved in return. His love comes at _no price_, no price at all – and it is this precisely which so humbles and overwhelms me… and makes me feel a contentment and _peace_ that I have never known before.

Ironically – this daring, mischievous, arrogant and impetuous red-headed wild child is my tranquility. Go fucking figure… hn.

And believe it or not – he is my _muichimotsu. _By now, it shouldn't be that hard to fathom.

_If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha._

_If you meet your ancestors, kill your ancestors._

_Free of everything, you are bound by nothing._

_Live your life simply as it is._

Who in the world is more happy-go-lucky and carefree than Sha Gojyo? Koumyou Sanzo perhaps, when my Master was still alive. I used to be such a worried little thing, overly concerned with propriety, none-too-politely questioning my Master's habits of smoking a pipe, or "escaping" his teaching duties… or even questioning his wisdom in appointing me his successor.

And even when I had killed, taken my first life, and broken the holiest of commands not to harm the meanest living soul – I was still so bound by my own narrow visions of how the world should be. I scoffed at fellow monks who were sincere in their devotion, simply because they were untainted by the cruel reality of the outside world – when in fact _I_ was the pompous ass, as always, looking down on their simple and honest faith and feeling somehow superior and unworthy of them, just because I had overcome trials beyond imagining, and fancied that my spirit was better than theirs because mine was purified by pain, not by empty prayers.

You see the depth of my arrogance? Even if it were true that my suffering meant I was on a different plane than my peers, did not make me any better than them; nor indeed worse, as my nightmares seemed to constantly mock me. I was… _I am_ – just different.

No more, no less.

This was the great secret that Koumyou Sanzo carried inside him. The fact that all men are flawed, even monks, even Sanzo Priests. No one is infallible. In the end, all that my wisdom has taught me is that I know _nothing_. That is the moment of enlightenment.

And yet _being_ a Sanzo Houshi, I am obliged to keep in place that mask of irrefutable knowledge, of indefatigable strength, of infinite mysterious wisdom. These are what give me authority, even if most of the time I just couldn't give a damn. In certain situations, however, the decorum is ideal, and facilitates matters more effectively and efficiently _with_ it than without it. And so I oblige, no matter how wearying it is to body and spirit.

At such times I now fully understand my Master's parting words about the scriptures draped over my shoulders. Strange how such a light and fragile thing can be such a burden.

And even stranger still, how the weight of the world falls away in such blessed release… when all is quiet, and it is just me and him… and Gojyo carefully, reverently slips the sutras from my shoulders as we undress each other in the dark. Literally and figuratively, he strips me of my burden, draining away all madness and torment and trouble, until I am renewed, reborn, in his arms.

_He carries me when I am too weary to carry myself._

In his arms, I am free of everything.

His love liberates me from all that binds – duties and promises, vows and responsibilities – all worries and care fade away.

Each night, for a few brief, precious hours… wrapped in his embrace… I live my life simply, as it is.

With him.

My taboo child of the flaming hair, and sunset eyes, and the proud scars on his cheek.

My wild gypsy with his ribald tongue, and cocky grin, and untamed passion, and unconquered strength… and the gentlest heart that ever beat, drumming steadily and soothingly beneath my ear.

My mate and my equal.

Fire to my ice.

Sha Gojyo, sunshine of my soul.

* * *

XxXxX

"Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." – Zora Neale Hurston

"Love's greatest gift is its ability to make everything it touches sacred."

– Barbara de Angelis

XxXxX

* * *

-- owari. –

* * *

**

* * *

A/N: It took some time for me and the chibi-muses to wrangle this "confession" out of the stubborn Sanzo, but we managed it in the end. Heh. We hope it was worth the long wait. The song that was inspiration for this fic follows. Thanks for reading!**


	10. Wildflower

**iv. Wildflower

* * *

**

**5** She's faced the hardest times you could imagine

And many times her eyes fought back the tears

And when her youthful world was about to fall in

Each time her slender shoulders

Bore the weight of all her fears

And the sorrow no one hears

Still rings in midnight silence in her ears **5**

**8** Let her cry, for she's a lady

Let her dream, for she's a child

Let the rain fall down upon her

She's a free and gentle flower

Growing wild **8**

**9 **And if by chance I should hold her

Let me hold her for a time

And if allowed but one possession

I would pick her from the garden to be mine **9**

**3** Be careful how you touch her

For she'll awaken

And sleep's the only freedom that she knows

And when you walk into her eyes

You won't believe

The way she's always paying

For a debt she never owed

And the silent wind still blows

That only she can hear and so she goes… **3

* * *

**

"Wildflower".

Words by David Richardson, Copyright Edsel Music.

* * *

"Bloom where you're planted." - Mary Engelbert


End file.
